Silent Symptoms
by Kaolindoll
Summary: One realization leads JD into the dark, as he faces confrontations about himself that he didn't want to know. ::JDA:: ::HIATUS::
1. Moribund Symptoms

**Title:** Silent Symptoms  
**Author:** mindreader208  
**Pairings:** Some Turk/Carla and Dr. Cox/Jordan, but nothing really much.  
**Summary:** One realization leads JD into the dark, as he faces confrontations about himself that he didn't want to know.  
**Feedback: **Is loved! Remember, all flames will be printed out sent to my dad's paper shredder, but all constructive criticism will be loved and praised!  
**Timeline: **JD and Elliot are single, but have already gone out with each other. Dr. Cox and Jordan are still divorced but are still seeing each other; and meanwhile Turk and Carla are dating. Also, JD, Elliot, and Turk are no longer interns.  
**Disclaim: **Did you know what "disclaimer" really means "a denial or renunciation, as of responsibility." I _do_ take responsibility for this fanfiction. I do not, however, take any for _Scrubs_.

**Moribund Symptoms **

I feel depressed. So depressed that I want to run to my room and cry. Honestly, I can't remember when this started, and truthfully I didn't even know about it until now. Well, maybe I did, but I never knew what it necessarily was until now. I think I've always felt this way, but I never realized it. Maybe life got too hard and when I finally stop to think, I realized just how depressed I was. But I don't want to think about it. I wish I didn't have to think about it, I wish it was buried in the back of my head again.

How the hell did I dig it up anyway?

I laid my head against the wall, listening to the small thud it made as the hollow wall made contact with the back of my skull. My dark brown hair fell in front of my face, I made no motion to try and push it back. I just groaned. My hand flew up and covered my face as I tried to hide my melancholy expression from the passing doctors and nurses.

Maybe now I didn't look so out of it. I mean, it isn't like it's uncommon for a doctor to suddenly rest in the hallway for a few moments. Is it? It was a hospital after all, and mental breakdowns were bound to happen. But yet, I didn't want to stop and rest here, I didn't want to get that look, that sympathy and pity look from people I barely knew.

What gave them the right to come up and see what's wrong with me? I mean, they didn't even _look_ at me usually, but when I'm a mess, they apparently feel like it's their duty in society to suddenly come and mettle into my personal life. That was a lovely thought, only pay attention to me when I'm mess. I love you guys too.

I was just… tired. Emotionally. My nose burned as a few tears began to form in my eyes. I removed my hand from my face, feeling a tear roll down my eyelid. I didn't wipe it away, it was strange and somehow comforting to cry. It dripped down to my cheek, leaving a trail of teardrops. On second thought, I didn't want anyone to see me crying. I desperately tried to hide it by coughing, but I was never good when it come to telling lies, verbally and physically.

Could someone tell I wasn't just having a coughing fit?

The blank faced interns and doctors and nurses ran pass me, not even looking my way. Some chatted with others, in especially large groups. Others walked alone, absorbed in their work, and others didn't bother look at me. "_Maybe there is a plus side to being invisible_," I thought bitterly to myself.

After an eternity it seemed I escaped the busy hallways and found sanctuary in an empty closet. The closet wasn't very big, maybe the size of the shower back at the apartment, but it was packed with more cleaning supplies than the supermarket got in a year.

My legs felt like rubber. I leaned against the door before slowly sinking down onto the ground and curling up into a tight ball. It was like being suffocated. No, it was like being suffocated in a two by four room. No, it was like being thrown off Mount Everest with no parachute, and _then_ being suffocated in a two by four room.

I didn't want to look at myself, I was too ashamed. Ashamed and embarrassed that I could no longer get through a day of work without a mental breakdown. I tried to tell myself I was just jumping to conclusions. It had been a long day and I was losing it. I'm fine, right? There was nothing wrong, nothing at all. Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'M FINE, I'M FINE, I'M FINE, I'M FINE!

My screams echoed in my head, playing back and forth in the silence of the closet. Its haunting to have an emotional breakdown in a closet, unsure if someone will suddenly open the door and see you. Even worse, someone who you know will open the door and see you. It's almost like being in a horror movie just waiting for the killer to come and stab you to your bloody death. I swear I felt my heart sink into my stomach.

But at the same time, there something comforting about being in the world's smallest closet on a Saturday afternoon when you are suppose to be working. Maybe it was the isolation? "_Kelso is going to kill me_." It was a thought with no response. Surprisingly Kelso didn't scare me at the moment, I felt too sick to be scared.

"_Sick? More like emotionally drained_." That was for sure.

The great thing about recuperating in a closet -that probably hasn't been cleaned in years- is the fact that a box of tissues is not hard to find. As a matter of fact, an unopened box was lying on the ground right next to my left foot. I blew my noise, trying to unsuccessfully not make so much noise. I also got the chance to spit out all of the gunk that was finding its way up my throat into my mouth.

"_Now what?_" It was a strange thought. I had been gone for who knows how long, and nobody had paged me. So they didn't need me--how surprising. Come to think of it, did they even know I was gone? That was a laugh, mostly because they didn't.

For the past few months, things have not been the same. Elliot and I, even though we have rebuilt our friendship after the breakup, still aren't as close as we had been. It was strange, we would hang out like usual, but we could both tell that there was nothing behind it. As for Turk and me, well, we had always been close… until now. Carla is nice and all, but her and Turk have been spending more time with each other than I have in the hospital--and that is really saying something. Actually, they've been spending double their usual time together now that Carla has moved it with us.

So, long story short, I haven't seen my best friend in forever, my other best friend might as well be an acquaintance, and I haven't had someone to talk to in while now. Not even Todd, he and some blond nurse with glasses the size of grapefruits have been attached from the hip lately. Literally. Even Ted and his singing group have been busy rehearing. Dr. Cox even, he's been swamped with work lately and I can't ask him something without getting insulted and called a girl's name. Actually, I get insulted and called a girl's name whether I talk to him or not, but my self confidence doesn't need anymore hits at the moment.

I mean, I'm not saying that I would usually care if someone paid attention to me, but I'm finding that the only people who ever acknowledge are the ones who I hang out with. Now that they're all busy, I'm finding that I'm alone.

Really, _alone_. Like my stupid high school years that I spent as the goofy nerd, or like when I go visit mom and Dan and they try to shove me out of the house the day after I get there, or like when I get back to the apartment an hour before Turk and Carla. There's no one there.

"_But it's not their fault. It just… happened_." It's not their fault, is it? Maybe I'm to blame. I am the only one making a big deal out of this.

I dabbed at my eyes briefly; the tears had stopped, but I had a lump in my throat that wouldn't go away no matter how much a swallowed. Not that it mattered, my mouth was dry and it felt like I had been eating sawdust. Correction, it _tasted_ like I had been eating sawdust.

Let's face it, I was overreacting. They still cared for me, I knew that, didn't I? But, that wasn't the point, was it? I wanted to cry, and my nose began to burn. I blinked rapidly and tried to keep it all in, but I couldn't stop shaking. I needed to get a grip. I tried to convince myself that there was nothing to cry about, but it wasn't working.

Heh, what if Dr. Cox were to see me now? I let out a muffed laugh, it sounded more like a dying pig's squeal. If Dr. Cox were to see me now, I was sure that the name calling would never end. I could see his face, a grin from cheek to cheek just as he persuaded to call me a girl's name. Elliot would try to help, but end up complaining about her own life, Carla would give me a prep talk, and Turk wouldn't know what to do. God, I swear my friends are so predictable.

My head hurt, it felt stuffy and light, and a throbbing pain was right in the middle of it. As for my heart, it had risen back to were it was suppose to be, but my stomach jumped and swayed, aching incredibly. I tried to gather myself up, tell myself there was nothing to worry about, that I was being a stupid idiot and my friends cared for me, but it wasn't working.

"_That's not the problem_." Stupid brain. I must have a dark half to it; I was obviously overreacting. But, the words were still haunting.

I truly wanted to stay in that little closet, cramped up in fetal position, until my shift was over, but I knew good and well that sooner or later someone would wonder where I was. I stood up, my legs felt like mush as I tried to stretch them out. My back ached as well, probably from curling in a ball and hugging my knees. Dr. Cox is right, I am a girl, and now thinking about it, I must have been a sight a few minutes ago. I just needed to get to a bathroom and wash my face, fix my hair, fill the water to the brim the sink and scream as loud as I could…

God, I'm such a girl. Maybe I was suppose to be one and God forgot and made me a guy at the last moment. Or maybe God hated me, or maybe I was gay. No, I wasn't gay, and God apparently hated a lot of people. Nah, he couldn't hate that many people, so maybe I was just cursed.

I shook the thoughts, this was no time for that, I needed to get to the bathroom and get cleaned up before lunch. No way two hours could have passed, but by lunch more than half the staff was off and privacy was hard to come by even in the bathrooms.

I first opened the door a crack and stuck my head out, slowly looking down both ends of the hallway. My eyes wondered to the clock down the end of the hallway. Twenty minutes had passed since my mental breakdown. If it had been any other occasion, I would have been cheering since it had meant I had snuck out of almost a half an hour of work. But in this case, I wish I had been working.

The door unexpectedly took the liberty of opening half an inch more. I jumped out of my skin, a shiver traveled up my sore spine. As though the movement meant someone was close by, I made a mad dash to the bathrooms at the end of the hallway. My heart beat so madly against my chest that it hurt. Panicking, I pushed open the door as fast as I could and ran inside.

"_Please, oh God, please_…" I checked under the stalls and found no one was here. Thank goodness. After I muttered a quick praise of thanks, I turned around to the mirror.

I froze, shocked to see myself. I knew it was bad, but I swear, I looked like I had been mugged or something. My hair was a mess, and I could only guess it was from pulling and ruffling it so much. As for my eyes, you could tell I had been crying, they were red and puffy and disgusting looking, I thought they looked inflected. My doctor senses kicked in and made a detailed guess that the darkness in the closet made my pupils dilate when they so suddenly come in contact with light. There was tearstains on my face as well.

After I stared at my expressionless face for God knows how long, I pulled off my stereoscope and set it on the counter. I blinked, and finally began to wash my face. The warm water felt good, almost relaxing. The liquid soap however didn't, it had that medical smell that made me feel like I was around a dying patient. I splashed my face a numerous amount of times, quite sloppily might I add, and the water did get all over my scrubs. Not too much fun when it turned ice cold and sunk through my shirt, under my scrubs, and met my skin.

Finally I stopped. I wasn't in a rush to do anything, I could relax. My forehead fell against the mirror as I panted. The carbon dioxide from my breath hit the glass, leaving a trace of fog for about half a second before disappearing. My arms supported my lower body as they crossed with each other and let me lean against the counter, very uncomfortably might I add. After forever it seemed I pulled away and took another look at myself.

I looked a little better, except now I had a red spot on my forehead. Water tickled down from my hair to my chin and then onto my clothes. It felt cold. I would also need to stop by my locker and grab some of my extra hair jell to fix my hair, as it was now clinging to my head quite annoyingly.

I took a few rough paper towels and dabbled at my face and hair and clothes. My hair stopped dripping, but began to fizz, my face dried off, but turned red from rubbing it so much, and my clothes didn't dry.

At that moment, I almost wished that I was a girl. If I was a girl, it wouldn't have been such a big deal that I had been crying, and I would have had a purse, and in that purse I would have had a brush and maybe even my hair jell.

But, I wasn't a girl, no matter what Dr. Cox said. So, I would just have to put my girlish feelings aside and get back to normal. I just felt so exhausted, even though I knew I shouldn't. My friends still cared for me, even Dr. Cox, although he would never admit it.

_But that's not the problem._

No, there was no problem! I was just overreacting, Elliot was still my friend, Carla still cares for me, Turk is still my chocolate bear… _But that's not the problem!_

That was it, I didn't have a problem. I didn't, I really didn't! How many times did I have to say it? But yet, I couldn't shake the thought. "_Quit worrying about it, there is no problem_!" Then why won't the thought stick? Why can't I convince myself that maybe, just maybe, I could actually be right for once in my whole fucking life?

One stupid time, where I could actually be the one who gets noticed? Not Dr. Cox when he dissolves an intern to tears, not Elliot when she answers a question that is two times above her level, not Turk and Carla with their love problems, but me. _Me_.

For God's sake, was I that invisible? So invisible that I couldn't even be mentioned in a passing conversation, not even once? I mean, people talk, people talk about everyone they know, whether or not they talk to them personally. Not even being mentioned, its like being… dead. My stomach launched. I wanted to throw up. I just tried, so tired of it all. So tired of trying and fighting for just a little bit of attention.

A wave of dizziness passed over me, making me consider eating lunch early. But that thought died before I could finish it, the thought of food made me sick. I was exhausted, and the worse part was it was for no reason.

_That's not true._

Yes it is. It is! It's not their fault, it's not anyone's fault. It just happened.

_It just happened?_

I frowned and wanted to vomit, just to get my thoughts sorted out and to get out of the hellhole I had jumped into.

"_Turk didn't mean to start ignoring me, Carla didn't mean to stop talking to me, Elliot didn't mean to start treating me like dirt, and even Dr. Cox, he was just being himself. It just happened_." It was true, they had all been themselves, it had just happened.

Right?

They didn't mean to intentionally hurt me, it had just happened. I felt sick, too sick to throw up. I didn't want to think "it just happened" anymore, because that might be the story, and it might even be the truth, but it sure as hell didn't feel that way.

My head suddenly snapped up and down, a little too fast for my liking. My beeper went off, startling me. I fiddled with it for a few moments until I finally pulled it off the waistline of my pants. My grip was bad and shaky, I was having a hard time holding it in a position I could read what it said.

Dr. Cox needed me. _Shit_. I wasn't in the mood to listen to him trail off about how worthless I was. But yet, duty called. My _paycheck _called. Maybe if I kept myself busy enough, I could make it out of work in one piece, I only had six more hours.

I brushed my hair back out of my face with my hand, trying to look presentable enough. Maybe I just looked tired, that wouldn't be too uncommon in a hospital. Having a mental breakdown was a whole different story, and must be kept a secret at all cost. I looked at myself again, wanting to vomit. I still looked stressed out, my eyes were red and bloodshot, my skin pale and nasty, and my pupils were still dilating. Actually, I looked more high than stressed out. But when my pupils stopped dilating, I would probably just look stressed out.

I had to get out of here. My beeper went off again, but I didn't bother to read it. It was probably Dr. Cox getting more impatient. I turned and left the sink area, making my way to the cheap wooden door. I had to met Dr. Cox by the nurses station, which was just down the hall. I pushed open the door, a little out of it, and walked out of the men's bathroom.

"_Ugh_!"

Without warning, I fell to the ground, losing all balance I had gathered up moments before. My back hurt as it made contact with the floor, not able to break the fall my head made when it hit the ground. Oh, God, it hurt. My vision blurred as I tried to get up, I couldn't. I couldn't even sit up. But, I saw blood, a lot of blood.

What the heck was going on?

"Oh, my God. JD!"

Elliot? Yes, that was Elliot, but her high pitched screams seemed so very distant from me, it was almost like being in a dream.

"Damn it, Newbie."

Dr. Cox? He was saying something, the chances were strong he was yelling at me. But I couldn't focus on the words, as a matter of fact, I couldn't focus on anything.

"Don't--"

Don't what?

"Stay… awake…"

Stay awake? Don't stay awake?

"Stay awake… don't sleep…"

"Get some help…"

"Can you hear me…?"

It was all so far away, the panicked screams and cries. Someone shook me, I groaned. I wanted to sleep, the pain was so unreal. I couldn't move, it was hard to breath, the pain in the back of my head wouldn't go away. Everything hurt, everything was sore. I didn't want to stay awake, to slip into a deep wonderful sleep seemed to be the only way out of this pain. The words died, so did all the noise. I finally let the voices trail off and allow myself to as well. What happened didn't matter to me anymore.


	2. Languid Symptoms

_First off, I would love to thank everyone for so many reviews and for getting them so fast. It really meant a lot to me, so please keep reviewing. Also, I'm a bit unsure about this chapter, as I'm not too happy with the flow. I anyone has suggestions on how to make it less choppy, I'm all ears. Speaking of comments, someone said that maybe I should do a chapter in Dr. Cox's point of view, and I'm going to flat out say no. Sorry everyone! This is precisely about JD, but I promise Dr. Cox and everyone else will have their moments--Dr. Cox might even have one soon. _

_With no further a due, the chapter. Enjoy!_

**Languid Symptoms**

In medicine you are required to study up on countless types of illnesses and treatments, the question of whether or not you need use them in real life always is ignored. One of the most common illnesses that you will study is schizophrenia. About one percent of our population suffer from this mental illness; you see, people who are schizophrenic see or hear things that aren't really there--in worse cases both symptoms apply.

I wonder if all schizophrenics out there hear things like this, or if its just me. Its incredibly dark, wherever I am. The chances are that I am in a hospital, because I smell the familiar odor of dying patients mixed the smell of cheap perfume. My question is: how did I get here? I remember crying like a girl in the bathroom, but the rest is a little blurry.

Deformed sounds are coming from everywhere, I can't tell if a cough is conversation. Its annoying as it is confusing, and to make matters worse my head is completely numb, and not the kind of numb where your leg falls asleep. I can't _move_, it feels like my head is being squeezed, but at the same time I feel lightheaded and airy. Its like I'm suffocating, but it's almost pleasant.

I can just see the staff, all reacting in their own ways to my recent hospitalization. Turk will act like nothing is wrong with him, but really be freaking out inside, and of course he will demand I get the best treatment possible. Elliot will cry, and when she gets the chance perhaps visit me. Dr. Cox will worry about me but not admit it and just go on with his daily life, or depending on what's wrong with me he might just go on with his daily life. Then there's Carla, who will become the protective mother I never had. She won't bother to hide her feelings, but the chances are good that she'll let them out by pampering me till I die.

I don't want to open my eyes. Actually, it's more like can't, so that's a good thing. It hasn't occurred to me till now that I can't really do anything. My nose itches, I can't scratch it. Why not? Am I too drugged up to move? No, I can't have some kind of horrible condition that keeps me on medicine all the time, and Dr. Kelso is too cheap to spend that much drugs on a patient, whether or not he is on the staff. Maybe Turk or Elliot added a few more douses of pain killers in my system and this is a temporary reaction.

"_Nah, I would be having a seizure or something if that were the case_." A thought entered my head, making all other thought process stop completely. What if this wasn't medical? What if I was in a coma? But coma patients can't hear you!

"_Or can they_?" If so, last Saturday Ms. Hamilton got one heck of a story about my night on the town…

No, stop, focus. I had to focus. I could still sense some things, smell most defiantly. The sounds of nurses in high heeled shoes running down the hall, or the sound of someone peeing in the bathroom next to me. Curse the walls for being so thin. Its amazing the hospital itself hasn't been sued. Maybe I could be the first? Nah, its not worth it, no matter how much money I would make from Kelso. That rich, slimy --

"Because, if _that_ was true, then the thing you said to me before wouldn't be true, and if _that _wasn't true then nothing in this conversation would be true. Therefore, if what you just said to me was, in fact, _fact_, then this conversion isn't fact and is in fact fiction and so that means that you, Charlotte, _will _be working this Friday night."

I could pick out that loud, egotistical voice anywhere, Dr. Cox!

_Slam._

I could also recognize his familiar door slamming technique that he used quite frequently when he was mad. "_Long day at the office_," I could only figure. Why would it not be? I obviously wasn't up to work at the moment. No doubt Dr. Cox and the rest of the staff were busy taking care of my patients.

"Nurse!"

That was most certainly Dr. Cox, because who else would yell in a room with a sleeping patient? Or well, I wasn't really asleep, I couldn't move, but I somehow got the impression that they thought I was.

_Click. Click. Click._

It was the same nurse who Dr. Cox had been yelling at before, I knew it. Her shoe pattern was the same as it had been when she had walked away from him.

"Yes?"

I didn't recognize her voice though. That was a relief, better it be her than someone I knew, and I knew a lot of Charlottes. It pretty much sucked to have such close friends see you so weak and vulnerable. Why hadn't this thought occurred to me before?

But now thinking about it, a lot of things weren't clear. How did I get here? Why can't I move? Why the hell can't I _think _straight?

"His chart here says that he's been subdued, so why the hell is he still strapped down?"

That answered the question as to why I couldn't move, but it brought up another. Why was I strapped down? I felt a sudden pull at my sides, I almost screamed it was so sudden. I might have jumped up if I could have, the way everything had happened so fast. I felt light and fluffy, almost like whip cream. I hadn't noticed before how numb I felt all over, but now without that heavy thing over me to keep me from moving, my body started to click back in action.

This realization wasn't as great as I thought it would be.

I wanted to scream, the pain in my head was so surreal. My body didn't hurt, but it felt numb enough to know something was not right. They had given me a large amount of medicine, so much that I couldn't focus. I couldn't focus enough to make words come out of my mouth.

"Alright, he looks fine to me."

Charlotte was talking again. I could barely hear Dr. Cox's teeth impenitently clicking against each other.

"Should we put him on more medicine? In case he wakes up?"

God, no.

I heard a small rustling noise from above, and I could only guess it was Dr. Cox scanning through the chart.

"No," he said, his tone actually sounding a little worried. Was he going to cry? "His reflexes were triggered by shock that his spinal cord released to the brain during the fall." He sneezed, the teary voice left his tone. Never mind. "The medicine isn't doing anything now." Pause. "If we fixed him up, why is he stilling getting drugs pumped into his system?"

I could imagine the nurse opening her mouth to say something, but Dr. Cox lifting his chart in front of her face to stop her.

"I know you just love using your patients as test subjects, but next time, _try _to refrain from doing it to an employee. Can you do that? Because if you can't, and someone -say- Dr. Kelso walks in and sees that we're using more drugs than necessary on a patient, he might just -_God hope not_- take it all out on me."

I could picture it all now, Charlotte's hurt face, Dr. Cox's annoyed face, and him walking out of my room angrily.

_Slam_.

Yeah, I was right. A few moments passed, I listed to Charlotte set my chart wherever it needed to go. In no time I could hear her high heel shoes following Dr. Cox's lead out of the room.

Silence. It was worse, the silence gave me nothing to focus on but the pain. Something was broken, that or badly sprained. I had a feeling that if I could move, I wouldn't want to. There was nothing to do but lie there and suffer until the medicine wore off. Wasn't it just my luck that I get a bad diagnosis? I had been having a bad enough day before. Seriously, if my life wasn't a hellhole already , why did I have to be such a klutz?

My head didn't feel as light, and I was starting to make out the feeling of my environment; the soft hospital sheets, the fluffy pillow against my head, the way my arm was uncomfortably twisted against my chest…

Sleep. I needed to sleep. Maybe when I woke up I would feel better. I tried to relax, I tried to clear my head of everything that had just happened to me. But it was hard. My workday had started out same as any other day, but a lot had happened in the little time I had been working. My mind was wrapped around too many thoughts, and I couldn't think of anything but them, no matter how much I tried not to. Finally, I fell into an exhausted sleep, mentally drained.

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I could tell my body was starting to regain control, as I was starting to go bolder into my thought process. Take for example, the question of: How long have I been here? I honestly don't know, half the time I sleep, as being awake is depressing when you can't move. You would think a nurse could read you the time everyone once and a while.

I now listen to the familiar sounds of shoes as they click down the halls. Its amazing how in the dead silence you could hear almost everything. Some movement has returned, I will admit. I can even move my jaw up and down now. I haven't tried to speak yet, I'll wait till I can move a little more. I want to get out of this hospital bed and get back into work. Its too depressing to be in a hospital all the time.

The sudden realization that I could move again did not bring as much joy as I hoped it would. For one thing, it now meant that when people checked on me, they would think I was asleep. This was not as harmless as it sounded.

Just this morning, Elliot visited me during her break. How do I know she was in here on her break?

Although my attempts at being asleep did seem to fool her, it did not make her shut up. It was a tormenting twenty minutes, as she somehow got from her concerns about me to a pair of yellow shoes that she had yet to break into.

Carla's visit had gone swell though. She watched over me like a mother hawk does with her young chicks. (Or birds, or whatever little birds are called.) I swear I could feel her eyes burning into my skull. Then, there was Turk. The two of us enjoyed a few lovely minutes of awkward silence until he was paged out of the room.

I'm not sure what section of the hospital I'm at, but that Charlotte girl works here a lot, as I often hear Dr. Cox yelling at her and few other nurses. I guess Dr. Cox is well known throughout the hospital, but I'm not sure how he pulled enough strings to be my doctor. Or well, I suppose it's more comforting to think he's _trying_ to see me, because out of the few minutes that he bothers to come by and check my charts, he usually isn't around my room at all.

I'm getting pretty tired of pretending to be asleep when everyone comes in. I believe I got the drugs out of my system fairly fast since I overheard a nurse with a very large lisp telling Dr. Cox that I could take a few more days to wake up clean. Although, I feel very tired, and most of the time I really am asleep. But my strength is returning, and I will have to face everyone at some point.

In some twisted, strange way, I'm happy to be in this hospital bed in agonizing pain with no medicine. I suppose if I were to "wake up" I would get some pain killers, but I can suffer a little longer. Pathetic, I know.

But the longer I lie here, the longer everyone worries about me. Or, at least it feels like they do. I hope they do, I've tired to convince myself that they do--although that turned out pretty bad considering where I am. I know this sounds truly cruel and horrible, and I know it isn't right, but by making them suffer, I feel little more important. Yes, that's right, Doctor John Dorian is in a room as a patient. For once someone worries about me. But I feel like a selfish brat every second of the day. I can't live like this. Although, I am.

On the other hand, I can't stand the looks of pity that I imagine everyone giving me. Apparently, because they care so much about me, it means they can't treat me like a normal person. I can't decide what to do. The attention is nice for once, but the pathetic looks that I will soon get from everyone is enough to make me reconsider everything.

I don't want that anymore. I get everyday, whether its from nurse's whispering about how I'm one of the few doctors here with no girlfriend, or whether it's the interns carelessly blabbering about how many abnormal hours I spend working at Scared Heart, or if it's just my friends, joking about my pitiful life. They're just joking, but it sure doesn't seem that way. Every joke does have a bit of truth in it, and jokes become old. The jokes aren't really jokes when the humor part of it gets old.

Betrayal. Anguish. Hurt. Self aggregation. Foolishness. Loneliness. Take your pick, its all there. If there's one thing I've realized as I lay here thinking about my friends, its how shitty they make me through jokes.

"_There's nothing funny about putting others down_!" I want to scream. It sure as hell doesn't matter if you're a good friend or not, everything is taken seriously.

I sunk back into the warm bed. I vaguely wondered how long I had been in this room. It couldn't have been too long, maybe two days or so? Yeah, that sounded about right. I tried to yawn, but I could only get my mouth open enough to stick my tongue out. The air in the cold room felt strange against my moist tongue. I pulled it back in and shut my mouth. I was trying to think of something other than what a mess I had gotten myself into.

--------

My back is prompted up against the bedpost with nothing but my familiar flurry pillow to serve as barrier between me and the wooden frame of the bed. As the clock across the room has told me, it is two in the morning, and so far no one has checked up on me at this time. Strange how little attention goes to a "sleeping" patient. When I get out of here, I should really give all those coma patients a visit.

But I would worry about that later. I had to think of a way to convince everyone I had just woken up. I somewhat wanted to get up and run out the door, screaming that I was better now and for everyone to stop making such a fuss over me. But, an IV was stuck in my right arm, and although I knew I could take it out, I didn't want to try with my hands still shaky. Maybe all the drugs hadn't left my system completely.

A bulging pain in the back of my head awoke me in the morning. My head, which besides being in pain, had never fully worn off its numbness, until now apparently. I pressed my hand against the back of my throbbing skull, hoping the pain would go away. It didn't.

On the plus side, I felt a whole lot better, and had even been able to walk around the room a bit. I supposed my time for staying was up. I was better. But, I had refrained from telling this to the nurse who had dropped by my room around nine. I could wait till morning, couldn't I? Besides, I had no doubt in my mind that I would have to pay for the room myself, and it was past midnight, thus indicating that I had paid for the room that day. Why waste money? I could stay for a little while longer.

I clicked my tongue against my teeth, a little habit I had picked up from Elliot. No one had come to visit me today. I sighed, deciding that the fear and worry had worn off by now. Everybody had made it to the stage where they were just feeling sorry for me.

I guess what annoys me the most about this situation is that fact that I know everyone in the hospital is going to try and compromise my "supposed feelings" with theirs. Here I am, in the hospital with such a pitiful life. Of course people will talk about me, and of course the very same people who talk about me will approach me and ask if everything is alright. Why? Because it makes them feel _so_ good, that they get through to someone who is hurting _so_ bad.

It's because people can't mind their own business. I never asked for this, for visitors, or a private room. I most certainly didn't ask to be here. Yet, here I am, stuck in a hospital room worrying that everyone will learn about the scam I've pulled. Yes, it's all so lovely. I'm sure the gossip hawks feels so special when they bake me a cake. Why, they feel so special that they brag about it with their friends.

What does that make me to them? A tool? A tool in their little game of pride? Not that I suspected anything more, I just didn't think it would really happen to me. Although, I guess everyone uses people for their own selfish reasons.

I remember when I was in ninth grade. A physiologist came to talk to the whole high school about rumors and gossip, telling us about kids who committed suicide and brought guns to school, things like that. At first, everyone was so worried, they couldn't stop talking about his speech for days. But then, it all died down. Not a word was spoken about it, everyone just went on with their lives.

Since then, I've always wondered why nobody listens. Sure, maybe they all took it to heart, but they didn't act like they did. Was that the way things were now? People were so caught up in themselves that even when they saw someone else in pain all they could really see was the benefit for themselves in them? If so, what's really the point of trying to get through to people like that. There is none, it's worthless.

I feel depressed now. My own logic has me confused and hurt. Is that how my friends feel? Sure, if they talk seriously about me, it would only be among themselves, but they're still talking, aren't they? But, they were also trying to help me. Too bad it was only for themselves.

I pulled my fluffy pillow onto my stomach and wrapped my arms around it tightly as I leaned on it. They washed it, didn't they? Yeah, they had to. Sure, there was a good chance I never had the same sheets, but I was lucky enough to have the same feathery cushion. I stretched myself out, my arms folding over my pillow. I turned over, now laying backwards on my bed, and stared at the little dots indented on the walls.

It was strange how hard I had been thinking a few moments ago; now I can't stop thinking about my pillow. I should give it a name, maybe buy it off the hospital later. I'll take it home and frame it. A mental image of me squeezing my pillow into a small frame came into place. I yelled for Turk's help, he came, we pushed, the pillow flew out and hit Carla in the head. Angry Carla, angry Carla--

Oh, no, I'm in my hospital bed, with my familiar pillow. Thank God. The wrath of Carla is not something I have to face.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Oh, dear God. I never heard him open the door.

I turn, ever so slowly and sit up. My eyes met his for almost a second before I open my mouth. I want to say something to my clearly pissed off mentor, but words escape me. He knows good and well that I've been well awake with mobility for a least a day.

He drops the few plastic clipboard he's holding, I listen to them clash together as they hit the floor. He blinks, clearly tired and unsure of how to respond. A twisted smile appears on his lips as he began to chuckle.

No doubt he's had a long shift, and with the time there's a good chance he was just coming to check up on me before he went home. But now this, now he finds out that I've been awake and I haven't bothered to tell anyone. Me being a doctor makes this even worse, as I should have known to tell someone.

But he just laughs for a few moments, shaking his head. "This is really something," he finally says, looking at me square in the eye. I can't imagine what my face must look like at the moment, I don't want to picture it. "So, JD, how long have you been awake?"

His voice is almost sarcastic, and he's not laughing anymore, but he still has that twisted, happy look on his face. His hands fly to the back of his head as they cling to his short hair. He called me JD, he's stressed and angry with me.

Then why isn't he showing it?

I tried to say something, but I couldn't, my mouth was dry. "Almost the whole day." My words were so silent and hoarse, I couldn't recognize them.

His hands fell back down to his sides as he shook his head. "Wow, so I guess you failed to mention that to the nurses when they checked up on you." His smiled faded, his eyes formed into a hard glare. I was dead. "Tell me, Carol, do you enjoy tormenting the lives of others for your own selfish reasons?"

I didn't say anything. My eyes went to my pillow.

"I know, as well as everyone else in this hospital, just how much of an unconfident being you are, but I mean _this_--" He stretched the word, adding more emphasis to it than needed, "_this _just takes the cake right here!" He clapped a few times, my stomach turned.

He approached the bed, I found I was too stiff to move. Dr. Cox wasn't in the mood for jokes, and his eyes were now holding mine with such a glare that I couldn't look away.

"If you want somewhere to wallow in self pity, find someplace else, because I sure as hell know that you don't have a life half as bad as someone who really needs this room right now." His voice was so calm it was frightening. "The worse part is, you don't even realize it."

"That's--"

"_WAKE UP_!" He leaned forward, his arms on the edge of my bed, forcing me closer to him. I jumped, but it didn't matter though, as he quickly pulled away and took a few steps away from me. "Is your brain so slow at the moment that I have to spell everything out for you? You're a doctor for Christ's sake--_a doctor_! You can't even understand that while your sit here complaining about how much shit you have to deal with, there are people out there who are in bigger hellholes than you can imagine!"

I know that. I'm a doctor, dumbass, you said it yourself, I hear and see things like that all day.

"But no, you can't think about them, can you? It isn't that you don't know, your not that ignorant, because I know your not, it's because you choose to not think about anyone but yourself!"

I know there are people out there who are in a worse place in life than me, but why does that mean I can't care about myself a little?

"_Are you listening_?" He was shouting, pacing around the room so vigorously that he had kicked the fallen charts across the floor a few times. "You don't understand, even after all the years working here, you don't understand that this isn't a place for you to feel sorry about yourself! Wake up, and if you can't do that then get out!"

The rant was over, but I couldn't think of anything to say. The door slammed loudly behind him as he marched out of my room. I couldn't think about anything but what he had said. I wanted to argue with him, to go run over to him and yell that he had no right to do that. I hadn't done a real crime, I had only not told anyone I was awake, and I that lasted for less than a day. But my words sounded lifeless even to me, I couldn't focus on them. I didn't want to admit, but Dr. Cox was right.

God, I hate my life.


End file.
